


Adagium

by Aithilin



Series: Halloween Week 2019 [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Ardyn Spoilers, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis went to find a cure for the Scourge, for a secret kept by the royal family for generations. He was not prepared for what he found.





	Adagium

The Adagium was a vessel. Ignis had showed him the story catalogued in an ancient book holed away in the depths of the Citadel library. Lost accounts of the founding of Lucis, ancient diaries scribbled out in a long dead language shared with the gods. Older still, the maps and outlines, the words that have been twisted and maimed into new forms through the years. The living transition between languages noted and annotated in the margins by scholars through the years. Index cards marked with notes and theories and guidelines for the changing terms and words and ideas set out in print. But some remained the same: Lucis, Adagium, Angelgard. 

“The Niflheim Empire had attempted an excavation once,” Ignis said, looking through the more recent re-tellings. The translations and guides lay out by Oracles and Kings through the years. “About thirty years ago.”

“What happened?”

“They failed. The bodies were found by the guards of the island the day after.”

The Adagium was a cursed vessel, Noctis knew. Even before he ever set foot on the isolated little island, with its formations of stone curling up to the heavens like wings. He supposed it was where the name came from. The fishermen from Galdin and other coastal towns named it Siren’s Rock— for the older depictions of a Siren, with the curl of her wings embracing those struggling against the sea winds. They left gifts on the shore, at the edge of the hallowed ground. Beneath the eyes of the Royal Guards who barred passage any further. 

“What are we looking for then?”

“I’m not sure, highness. Some say a vessel, others say a man. I’m more inclined to believe it to be the vessel.”

“Like a cup? Or a bowl?”

“I’m partial to a vase,” Ignis had offered with a smile; “but we’ll simply have to wait and see.”

Neither had sounded right in his mind. Not after the Crystal had started to whisper to him after his coronation. Not after the dreams of the long dead past had started to surface, to seep into his mind like a cursed obsession. Not after he had scoured the historic texts locked away in the Citadel, gathering dust as he tried to make sense of the missing piece of history. And it was a missing pieces, glaring from the world built around it. 

It became more noticeable the longer he looked. There were holes, disappearances, named dropped from older texts. Even several from the time of the Founder that had just been scribbled out entirely. 

When he was twenty, Noctis thought he might have liked the adventure. And the mystery. At least the chance to spend a few days by the ocean. 

Now that he was thirty and King, the island had loomed over the calm waters like a shadowed omen and echoed the warnings of his father. The wings curled to reflect the sunlight away from the structures and caves that had fallen to ruin. Away from the little openings he could see from the shore, where he had stepped over the fraying nets and gifts and pleas for healing from the Scourge. From the disease that surfaced every few decades, when nights grew longer and the Oracle retired back to her sanctuary in Tenebrae. 

When he was young, Noctis thought, this wouldn’t have been possible. 

His father had always attempted to curtail the draw of these places for him. These monuments for the kingdom that existed well before the Lucis they knew. The red ruins of Solheim overgrown and infested with the kind of darkness that repelled even the bravest of the hunters. From the little secrets that seemed to fester beneath the pristine surface of the kingdom. 

His father had tried to keep him from this dry and cracked island, barren of all life save for the guards standing at attention. Save for the sylleblossoms growing in the light of the crystallized structure at the heart of the place. There had once been swords there, Noctis knew. They had gleamed in the sunlight, until one day they vanished. A sign that the last watch of a heavenly guard had ended. The sign that the final Astral guardian had slept like the rest. At least for a time. 

Noctis had timed the excursion well. 

The autumn nights had grown longer, the salt sea air of the coast was colder. The storms building over the water threatened seasonal storms in the south, snows in the north. The embers of Ravatogh had flared to life again, the hot springs that dotted mountainous Cleigne bubbled and beckoned visitors looking to escape the coming winters. 

And the gods slept. Save for the older ones; the oldest ones. 

Etro whispered through his dreams, Carbuncle carried visions to his waking moments, Bismark had beckoned him out to the sea. 

Death, Dreams, and the Sea itself all led him to Angelgard. 

All led him to the Adagium. 

“It took the Scourge in to cure the people,” had been the translation. “It had overflown for its bitterness and malice. Cursed to spread the darkness until brought into the Light.”

There had been theories, beliefs. Fairy tales carried through the years of the daemons and their source. The King of Light could destroy the Adagium with the Crystal’s light.

Noctis wondered if there was something missing; if the Adagium held a cure. If the fairy tale was true and the vessel had cured the Scourge for a time, he wondered if it might be cleansed to do so again. 

The guards watched him nervously, standing aside as their King passed them. Wary of the disruption to their standing orders. 

Noctis had learnt not to trust prophecies. Or the words of the Astrals. At least, not the Astrals who seemed intent on manipulating humanity from their shadows. Who were content to only speak with royals and those in power; deigning to show themselves only when the challenges of keeping peace had grown too difficult. 

The cell on the island was small and dark, and shrouded by the curl of those stone wings. Gladio reluctantly stayed behind, standing in the warmth outside, with a clear view of the shrouded ruins. Watching the guards as they muttered between themselves, the masks of their uniforms obscuring them from easier identification. 

It took him a moment to adjust to the dark. He hadn’t thought to bring a light with him when he was venturing out to this place in the harsh glare of an afternoon sun. There was a steady drip echoing in the cell, the rattle of chains in the dark. And the Adagium was there, suspended from the walls and ceiling with the thick, rusted hooks that shook the chains with each ragged breath. Each tiny movement. 

If he had been with anyone else. If he had been within the sight of his people, his family, he would have maintained the trained, stony demeanour expected of the King of Lucis. The aloof appearance he had perfected over the years. 

But here, in the shadow of the island, he couldn’t keep himself from balking. Recoiling in horror as he saw the gaunt figure, the cruelty of the suspension on the thick hooks. The ghastly pallid skin, the drawn, broken breaths. It could have been a ghost before him; a vision or spectre suspended before him in the shadow of the Astrals. 

The ghost of the Adagium lifted his head at his intrusion, and Noctis saw the weary, pained look of a man who had not seen another life in decades.

He couldn’t keep himself from rushing to help. 

“No.”

The voice was strong, if dry. It echoed around them, and stopped Noctis in his steps. It reverberated against the walls, breaking the near silence in defiance. 

“Don’t touch the blood.”

It was the halting, ghostly warning of the spectre of a parent. An apparition seeping through to the place between realities that Noctis had stepped into. 

Noctis looked around for anything that could help. The blood pooling in dark puddles beneath the man, the steady drip indifferent to the maddening darkness and timed with the beat of a weakened heart. Noctis bit is lip and tried to gingerly work the hook loose without doing more damage. Without tearing open the man’ sides.

Gladio came running at the screams. The hoarse, ragged screams. 

“Help me,” Noctis commanded, pulling to slacken the chains before trying again. The chains were strong and he could feel the magic of them biting into his hands, trying to drive him away. But he knew that he was stronger. He was born stronger than fading, ancient magics. 

The magic could falter, the ancient spells— and they were ancient— could be unravelled. And Gladio was stronger than the old stones. The chains creaked and cracked as he pulled them loose, that man dropped and Noctis rushed to catch him, staggering under the bulk. 

The royal guards hesitated at the doorway, driven forward away from their vows not to interfere with the Adagium by the glare from their King. The order snapped out as Noctis struggled to keep the man aloft long enough to loosen the chains. “Help us. Now.”

The gaunt body was heavy, and in the mess of chains and torn flesh and the bloody hooks, his heart had stopped. 

Gladio was ready, but he had pulled Noctis away first. He ordered the gloved guards move the body out to the light of the sun. 

“Did you get it on you?”

“What?” Noctis was in shock, dumbfounded by what he had found. His Shield inspected him, held him by the shoulders to ground him, to looks for where the dark blood may have stained him. Noctis mind took a moment to realize what Gladio was looking for; “No. No. I’m fine. Can he be saved?”

Noctis followed Gladio to the man’s side. 

The guards chatted amongst themselves, casting furtive glances to the Shield, the King, the man taken from the cell. They watched and paced, and Noctis knew that his orders— his intrusion— had just usurped the standing orders that had been held for generations. Noctis approached them, tried to regain the sense of authority he had practiced and built up over the years. 

“Who is this man? Does he have a family we can bring him to? What was he doing here?”

The questions came easily. They came rushed, until one guard stepped forward with a bow: 

“Majesty, that is the Adagium.” 

All of a sudden, beneath Gladio’s careful hands— his gentle swipes with a cloth at the dark blood staining the man’s skin and sides— the Adagium gasped back to life in the autumn afternoon sun.


End file.
